Reckless
by Kaitlinbell
Summary: AU. Marco, the son of the greatest criminal businessman in Canada, is stuck in the middle of a family business he'd much rather be avoiding...with a secret. And upon the arrival of dylan, the ambitious new underling, problems arise.
1. Chapter 1

This is about as AU (alternate universe) as you can possibly get. There is no Degrassi though who knows, maybe there will be mentions later. Some characters will have mentions and appearances but to what extent I couldn't tell you. But mostly the entire world is fabricated and done so for fun, to add a different element to the relationship because...I can.

Lucy and I are working on All That Glitters. I can't promise results because of our school work load as of late but it's _there_. Then there's Reunion. It's kind of dead so I can't give a comment on that one. I've had the beginning of a chapter for AGES now and I can't get it to go anywhere so, sorry. Update in the very far away future. Let me just start another fic I'll fall behind on shall we? XD

Um, warnings for language, allusions to sex and drug references, and um, whatever else filters in here. Seriously, fics on hereare clean. If you want something worse...go to my livejournal and friend it.

* * *

Marco lifted the flute of champagne and took a languid drink, alert eyes taking in all the inhabitants of the room. Rodolph and his dog looking wife were in the corner. From the looks of it bardering some illegal substance. Amatures. A dinner party was not the place to hold these transactions, but of course, you couldn't teach those that were too pigheaded to learn. Melissa however stood beautiful and regal in the corner, smiling seductively at random men of political power. She, unlike that sleaze Rodolph, knew what she was doing. She was one of the highest in command simply because if you needed information, she could get it for you, unless the person was tragically gay of course.

The Italian smiled and gently placed the glass on the bar, turning around to wink at Melissa. Tonight was just a routine dinner party. Nothing special and nothing where they were looking for anyone or anything in particular. Just for appearances and decoration. The soft piano drifted in between the finely dressed men and woman and the low lighting flashed off of woman's earrings and chokers that probably cost more than his car, which was saying quite a lot. Ah, the life of the rich, the famous, and the backstabbing.

But quella e vita. He certainly wasn't going to complain.

Across the room Melissa was smiling at a tall blonde man that Marco had never seen before. He was dressed like every other man here, in a simple black and white tux, the flower on the right breast a sign of position and rank. Marco's was a bright white blossom, a show of just how high up he was. This man's however was a dull pink carnation. A newbie. Marco smiled. It would seem Melissa was only going off of looks for this one. And, he mused, she had fine taste. He was tall, easily one of the tallest and most built men in the room, with broad shoulders and big hands. His hair brushed his shoulders in a tame tousle of blonde curls that bounced when he laughed loudly. He couldn't see his face though. Biting his lip, his curiosity getting the better of him, Marco turned back to the man behind the bar and asked for two more flutes of champagne.

Drinks in hand Marco moved away from his dark, secluded spot and headed over to the talking couple. Melissa saw him coming over and her dark eyes lit up. "Marco," she greeted happily in her lilting Italian, gracefully taking the proferred drink. "Meet Dylan Michalchuk. He's a paper pusher for the Domani corporation. Only been working there a week and they're considering promoting him."

The Italian man raised a sardonic eyebrow and looked over at the man. Up close and at this new angle he could see his face perfectly. He had prominent, proud facial features, a strong nose, jeweled blue eyes, small mouth, and a strong jawline. The way he held himself as well showed the same proud disposition. Marco looked back at the woman and nodded in understanding. What she had meant by all this was that this Dylan would soon be in high enough ranks to be either an accomplice or an enemy and probably held the abilities to be a strong asset. Taking another quick glance at the man, he certainly hoped he'd be an accomplice.

Smiling as charmingly as he could Marco extended his hand. "Nice to meet you. Marco Del Rossi."

The blonde grinned widely, taking his hand, and shaking his head to get the hair out of his eyes. "I've certainly heard a lot of you tonight. You're about to take over the entire Del Rossi company. That's amazing for someone so young."

Marco looked at Melissa and felt like laughing at the man's easy to talk demeanor. That was a rare things at these social functions. Too much moved around too quickly to be so loose-tongued with these people. He found his honesty rather endearing, just like his sunny smiles. He waved a hand as if to shake off the compliment. "Family business. It really has nothing to do with my abilities I assure you."

"Oh, I dunno. I've heard more. They say you're going to be valedictorian of your college class. That certainly says you have the abilities."

The younger man, after years of practice, only flushed minutely before composing himself once again. "I thank you for the compliments, however I must go. My father is trying to get my attention." He smiled and turned, shaking Dylan's hand once more, turning to kiss Melissa on the cheek quickly before leaving, hearing her speak as he left.

"Don't mind him. He's modest to a fault..."

Marco shook his head as he pushed through the crowds of people, keeping his eyes locked onto his father in the far corner. He finally reached him and stood beside him quietly.

"Marco, we are having the run tomorrow at ten. I trust you will not come back empty handed?" the elderly man said, his voice rusty with age.

"I shall do my best," Marco responded, trying to keep his face impassive. "Have you noticed the trouble Rodolph has been causing in the drawing room?"

His father looked up at him with tired eyes. "What is he doing now?"

"Oh, nothing to warrant immediate attention, but something illegal and hidden poorly at that. You know how he is."

"Regrettably I do. Show him to the door will you? And then you should dance. There are many lovely ladies in this room, and all eying you."

"Pa..." he started, but gave up within a second. "Nevermind. I will get a dance in before the night is done. Now if you'll excuse me."

With a scowl Marco turned on his heel and left his father, silently hating himself for not telling him no. It was _always_ the same. Girls, girls, girls. You'd think there was more to life. Like school, the business, operations. But no, it was always the carnal pleasures with his father. Find a woman. Any woman would do. As long as you had those appearances and fun at night. It was beyond frustrating.

He walked quickly to the front entrance and leaned into one of the bouncers. "Travis, Rodolphus is at it again. Could you lend a hand?" The burly man smiled and winked down at him from his formidable height.

"For you? Anything." Marco smiled as the man left, his bald head shining under the lights. He'd been friends with Travis since he was small. The bouncers had been everywhere but Travis had made it a point to talk to him and always be with him no matter where he went. Not that he'd gone to school like most kids. He'd had private tutors from the second he could talk until he was old enough for college. So the only friend he'd ever really had was this big burly man who sat with him on Saturdays introducing him to rock music, chocolate bars, and alcohol. Suffice to say, he owed most of his sanity to him.

Satisfied that the situation was taken care of Marco leaned against the wall of the drawing room and let his eyes skim over the women for a dance partner. There was Gaetano's daughter. No, he thought with a sigh, she was simpering and bubble headed at best. What about the Mikhailov girl? She had just arrived to the firm from the Czech Republic a couple of weeks ago so she wouldn't know him well enough for conversation to be stunted. Mmm, maybe not. Her father was not looking too kind at the moment. One thing you learn is to never take a girl from a possessive father, whether your intentions were noble or otherwise.

Finally his eyes rested on Melissa and he smiled. He might dance with her at _every _social function, but he certainly liked it that way. She was certainly a beautiful thing with her long dark hair that reached her mid-back and her cat-like facial features. She was made for seduction that was for sure. His father would allow him to marry her in an instant. If only he was interested. Throwing caution to the wind Marco walked over quickly and after nodding to Dylan he leaned in to whisper into her ear. She pulled away abruptly. "He's going to start talking marriage if you keep dancing with me!"

Marco sighed tiredly and ran a hand through his hair. "I know! And I'm sorry. I just don't really want to dance with any of the women here tonight. And you'll always be my favorite," he said with a silly flutter of his eyelashes.

Her eyes closed in annoyance but she did nod. "Fine. One," Melissa said as she focused her gaze on Dylan. "Will you excuse me for a moment? I'll be right back to keep you entertained."

The blonde shook his head happily, curls bouncing about lightly and Marco swallowed hard. "No, it's fine. Champagne will keep me occupied. You go dance with the prodigy child," he said, winking at Marco.

Marco couldn't contain his blush this time and held out his hand to his long time friend with his eyes on the ground. She took it with a laugh and let herself be led to the dance floor. There was a waltz playing and he fell into it easily like second nature, having learned all the great ballroom dances by the time he was six. She leaned in and whispered into his ear as he whirled them around between the other partners. "You like him," she said.

He pulled back and glared. "He's blonde," he said in disgust.

"You're point?"

Marco rolled his eyes. "Look, I know you've been putting in words. Stop. If you haven't noticed we're in the middle of one of the biggest criminal corporations in Canada and America as well as one of the oldest most conservative Italian families. There just isn't room for my kind in this place."

Melissa's dark eyes narrowed pointedly. "Honestly, just let it lie," he pressed.

"Fine," she spat. "Just so you know Dylan's being transferred soon. You might put a good word in for him to your father."

He just glared again and continued through the steps. "I'll see what I can do."

Over the woman's shoulder he could see Dylan watching them dance. He was smiling softly, almost sadly, and when he realized he had been caught staring he jumped, but quickly winked at him again, raising his glass in acknowledgment.

Marco cleared his throat and averted his eyes feeling the blush flaming up. Dio. He was in trouble.

* * *

Marco awoke the next morning to an annoying and consistent metallic beeping. Groaning and rolling over lethargically he hit his hand against the snooze button repeatedly. It was only after hitting it five times without success that he finally lifted his head from the pillow to see that it was not in fact his alarm but his cell phone going off. Marco beat a tired fist into his pillow and hauled himself out of bed, stumbling over to the small table by his window and answering the phone.

"Che cosa desiderate?" he bit out, not at all in a happy mood.

"Morning Delstudly."

Marco glared into space. "Schermo, is there a reason you're calling me at two a.m.?"

Frantic shuffling sounds drifted down from the other end of the line as if papers were being sifted through before the voice came back. "We got the information on Halloway. Addresses, credit card information, recent appointments, business partners, brand of underwear, anything your little heart desires. Craig got the photos and we've successfully mapped out his house as well."

The Italian man threw himself down on the sofa by the table and rested his head on the back, shivering slightly at how cold it was in his room and decided he should get this over with quickly so he could crawl back in bed. "Great work you guys. We're still planning on tomorrow at ten I presume?"

"Mmhm."

"Good. Now...if you don't mind...my bed is calling me."

Marco could almost see the grin forming on Schermo's face. "Is the bed empty? Any pretty blonde thing in there?"

Unbiddenly, renegade visuals of Dylan from earlier that evening raced through his mind. Marco shook his head as if to rattle the images out of his brain and scowled. "It is very much empty."

"I could remedy that," the other man's voice rang out in it's usual spastic demeanor.

Gritting his teeth Marco spat out "No, thank you. Thanks for the update and now I'm going to back to bed. Pervert."

"Sleep tight, Sleeping beauty," Schermo chirped before hitting the end button, leaving Marco to listen to the dead tone buzzing in his ear. Asshole.

Schermo also happened to be one of the few friends he had though a far more recent one compared to Travis or Melissa. His real name was Bauhaus Goldstein, and Marco didn't blame him in the least for getting a nickname as quickly as possible. The man had grown up the son of a very well known architect and military leader, both strict and radical. After fifteen years of that he had run away and was soon taken under the wing of the Del Rossi company by Marco himself.

Marco had only been a year older than him at the time in fact and they'd gotten on famously. He had even given his friend the nickname Schermo, which meant screen in Italian, instead of being called "Goldy" everyday. When Schermo later became the head of stealth operations Marco had liked the irony. The man had changed a lot since his first appearance in the thick of the business. His once curly dark hair was now gone completely, replaced with a very close buzz cut. His dark eyes were still small and beady and still a little too mischievous for his own good. He was still twitchy and never stopped moving, suffering from a bad case of ADD that he didn't take medication for. His nails were always colored in permanent marker and thousands upon thousands of scratchy pictures always littered his desk, but Schermo never seemed to notice, only continued talking fifty miles an hour and smoking cigarette after cigarette.

Schermo also, besides being a friend, was also his first sexual encounter as well, though they hadn't done so in ages or talked about it much. After finding they preferred being friends the only times they'd ever done so again had been drunken escapades at best, barely remembered the next morning and laughed at. However it never stopped the idiot friend of his from flirting non-stop anyway.

Throwing the receiver back into the cradle Marco crawled back into bed, hugging a pillow to his chest and blowing a puff of air to move the strands of hair that had fallen into his eyes. He sighed, staring at the luminous digits of his alarm clock. Thing was he hadn't really had a so-called "sexual encounter" for almost a year now. Pretending to be straight was one thing. And it wasn't even as if that's what he was really interested in, but he knew other people didn't like hiding once they were out. It was an unneeded triviality. So his thoughts on a relationship under his father's watchful gaze were preposterous.

As Marco finally drifted off he thought of how the blonde had winked at him earlier that night.

* * *

Dylan sat back heavily in his chair, squeezing the bridge of his nose to fight against the oncoming headache. The desk light burned a little too bright, casting stark shadows on the walls of his room. He hated this part. All the paperwork. All the guesswork. He had crossed over to the shadier parts of business because he had found nothing seemed to keep him interested in real everyday life.

In high school he'd been a star hockey player, football player, soccer player. Anything and everything to keep him moving and guessing what the opponents next move might be. He had to keep on his toes constantly. So after college all the jobs thrust in his direction all seemed so...boring.

So here he was. Here he was...frustrated.

He'd been in what Paige brattily called "the mob" business for a full year now and he had not been let in on an operation at all whatsoever. They handed over grunt work, filling out ledgers and threatening letters. The only reason he was still here is because Domani had assured him...he'd get there. He just had to stick through the evaluation before he was deemed worthy. He had said laughing, it was high school all over again. Be ready to get screwed over.

Dylan had laughed with Domani at that.

Last night had been his first operation. And while it wasn't a very action packed one...Domani assured him it was invaluable.

He was to seduce Marco Del Rossi over to the company.

Why, Dylan wasn't exactly sure. Little snippets of history floated here and there throughout the employees and he caught some things. Like for instance Domani had actually been the second in command for the Del Rossis at one time (Marco's soon to be position ironically enough) and that after a great dispute Domani was forced to break off from the family, but instead of disappear he fought back.

As far as behind-the-scene status, the Domani corporation was mediocre in comparison, mostly because Domani had an aversion to violence of any kind being used to achieve his goals. He preferred blackmail and loopholes to healthy threats. However, when it came to social standing Domani was climbing through the ranks of high society with an alarming amount of speed, easily hovering below the Del Rossis and quite smug about it.

Which was why it had been so amazingly easy to secure a reservation to the dinner party last night. Key to the snake pit secured, the next course of action was then, of course, to make his presence known to the target, working through parents, friends, associates until you seem harmless. Marco had proved to be rather easy on that front.

What Dylan hadn't been counting on however was that he'd actually _like him._ He didn't mean any disrespect to his rivals but they were hardly less than eyesores. He had always wondered where Domani had gotten his own good looks, regal, elegant, and deadly. The only plausible explanation Dylan could formulate is that the beautiful, exotic woman hanging onto the arms of the older men were to thank.

After seeing Marco though...God.

Suddenly his job seemed both entirely too wonderful and too complicated all at once. The man had been of small stature, easily almost a whole foot shorter than himself, with long arms and legs, slender hands and face. Soft facial features, almost feminine, catty and clever. He had had deep set, dark eyes that he had felt watching him subtly the whole time he spoke to Melissa. The sharpness, the spark in those eyes had made his hair stand on end each and every time the Italian had looked straight at him.

Dylan growled low in his throat, scrubbing a hand through his messed up hair as he stood up and moved to flop onto his bed in frustration, the image of the beautiful man flitting behind his eyes.

According to Domani all he had to do was become friends with the younger man, make him trust him. And then convince him to switch alliances. The number rule of this job is you never asked questions. It was futile and would likely get you demoted or even hurt. But Dylan was beginning to wonder if it was worth it. His curiosity was truly killing him for the first time in ages.

What did Domani want with Marco?

And why was such a precarious position offered to _him_?

* * *

Review or Marco will assassinate you. 


	2. Chapter 2

To all of you who got an author alert for reunion…oy I'm sorry. These two stories are right beside each other on the site page. I'M SORRY!

Please don't kill me! I've been debating over updating this for ages but the ending of the chapter never seemed right, but I was going on twelve pages and decided I had better do it before it became monstrously long. So…here it is. I hope it's worth it.

* * *

Marco stared uneasily at the pistol lying on the black blankets of his bed. He had been uneasy around guns since he was little. Something very out of place, he always felt, when one grew up among them constantly. Then again...he felt constantly out of place here, constantly different and stared at and strange. Perhaps a gun was the least of his worries. Clearing his throat agitatedly to the silence Marco reached forward and picked up the weapon, slipping it into the case beneath his blazer, inwardly cringing at the dead weight against his chest.

Tonight was the run. This was by no means his first, but he was heading it for only the second time. His father was meeting one of his contacts in Moscow with Mikhailov this weekend to sort out an adult film mishap that occurred there a few days ago. Marco was hardly interested and was only slightly mad this run had fallen to him.

"Marco, we ready to jet?"

Opening his eyes, trying to ignore the weight of the gun, Marco turned around to see Schermo leaning against the doorframe picking at the paint with bitten fingernails. "Del Rossi Sr. called. He said since this run is rather remedial all the newbies are going for experience."

Marco threw his hands up, cursing loudly in Italian. "Why does he always do this? They just get in the way! Anthony was almost killed last February because of them!"

Schermo only shrugged nonchalantly and continued fidgeting at the doorframe.

The Italian sighed, squeezing the bridge of his nose, feeling far too old. "How many?" he asked.

"Three. We've already given them the castration speech. Even tacked on a bit more bravado and gore than usual so problems should be kept to a minimum," Schermo replied, moving away from the door to tap at a vase of flowers by the window.

Marco sighed quietly, walking over next to the other man where he had left a full magazine on the table. He picked it up, placing it into an easy to reach pocket before tossing his hair, determination leaking into his movements.

"Let's go then."

* * *

Exiting the elevator on the ground floor four sets of eyes rose to meet his. The clever, catty eyes of Melissa, the cloudy ones of his younger cousin, an unfamiliar dark pair belonging to a tall man of African descent and... 

Dylan Michalchuk looked up from his conversation with the unknown newbie and Marco felt as if ice had plunged into his stomach. Beside him Schermo was already briefing all the group members on Halloway but Marco couldn't seem to hear him.

After a few moments Marco turned to Melissa, his bearings finally found, and raised a questioning eyebrow, nodding toward the blonde listening attentively to Schermo speaking. She only grinned widely and shrugged.

Schermo nudged him with a bony elbow and Marco nodded. "Let's go."

As one, the small group began heading to the two black cars waiting outside the lobby. Marco climbed into the first one, Melissa following with Schermo slinking in after. He watched the blonde man get inside the second car with the other two new additions out of the dark window and turned to Schermo.

"When did _he_ enter the company?" he almost yelled, eyes a bit hysterical.

The spidery man only smiled and beside him Melissa's eyes danced with mischievous stars. "Let's just say he turned out to be far more qualified than we thought at the party and was all but shoed in yesterday."

Marco stared at her. This was not happening, he thought. A stupid little crush he could deal with no problem, but to have the person around constantly? Sighing tiredly he let his head fall onto the window with a thump.

"And what was the name of the other?" he asked after the man Dylan had been talking to when they had arrived, fatigue leaking into his voice.

Melissa considered her nails across from him airily. "Name's Eric. We're not sure of his abilities yet at the moment. He doesn't seem like very good material if you ask me."

He nodded and pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling the magazine in his pocket weigh him down that little more. Fuck if he didn't hate this stupid business.

* * *

Dylan reclined in his seat further; barely containing a smug smile at the nervous expressions on the other two men's faces as they fiddled with their hands or tried to appear stoic. He wasn't really too worried, he'd at least done runs in the Domani company so this wasn't uncharted territory just yet. 

He had been woken this morning at six by a phone call by Domani. He had been informed that his position within the Del Rossi company had been sealed. How, who knew. But, of course, you never asked.

It had been a bit of a surprise trying to figure out exactly where he stood that evening, reporting to the building with only very basic instructions to help him out, but after seeing the other two newbies become nervous wrecks affirmed his chances once again. A confidence he knew he should work on deflating. He'd been told even before he entered the ranks that an ego could kill your chances, make you vulnerable at the most critical of times. It was all about being ready.

Which perhaps was made hardest of all by Marco himself.

When the man had exited the elevator tonight he had felt his breath catch once again as he watched the deadly man move with fluid grace over to them, looking increasingly intimidating and seductive next to the tall, wiry, rather plain man beside him. Those earnest, but closed off eyes flitted over the faces methodically and Dylan caught the minute widening as they fell on him.

Yes, Dylan thought. Marco remembered him, meaning the man at least spared him half a thought between the dinner party and now.

He felt the car come to a halt and Dylan smiled cheerfully at the two men looking decidedly green at the moment before hopping out of the car much more enthusiastically than they could ever wish to be.

To his left Dylan could see Marco leaving the car out of the corner of his eye. Feeling that same confidence come rushing back he gave the man a cheeky grin before walking around the car in the direction Marco's right hand man was already headed in. It had apparently rained the night before. The streets were all wet and bright under the spotlights, the air cold and damp. It was almost like an extremely silly gangster movie and Dylan withheld the laugh rising up from his chest. God, he wasn't serious enough for this job sometimes.

Coming to a large apartment building Marco stopped and turned to the other five with a business-like expression on his face. "Alright. Listen up. Halloway lives in the penthouse on the fifteenth floor. You've all been shown the layout so if one of you dickheads gets lost in a bathroom or something you _will_ be left there. Understood?"

Dylan bit his lip, trying to hide the smirk fighting it's way forward. The Italian man was so intimidating when he really wanted to be. Thinking back to his demeanor at the dinner party just yesterday evening it was hard to put these two men together as the same person. If he was completely honest with himself he liked this no room for error Marco just as much.

"Now, I want this to be a clean run. Which means one gunshot fired, the next will be in your own head. This is for money and any death should be avoided at all costs. The same goes for if something goes missing from this building and is later found in your pathetic pockets. This is not a joyride. This is your job. Keep your hands to yourself and all will be well."

And just as quickly as the speech started Marco gave a small nod and turned around, leading the small group up the stairs. Normally one would be forced to buzz up to the building but the stealth operations of the company had already dealt with the technicalities the day before through surveillance. The doors of the building's lobby were unlocked and unwatched.

The troop mounted the stairs relatively quietly. The other two newbies' footfalls fell louder than the rest and Dylan could just imagine Marco's pained expression with every heavy thud on the stairs. Marco's footsteps Dylan was interested to find, were quietest of all, his weight making him practically weightless as he positively leapt up the stairs ahead of them all as silent as the grave.

Finally the man found the door of Halloway's floor and Dylan felt a small thrill rush through him. This was why he had joined this side of business.

Marco rapped the door quickly before stepping back, the picture of a cool head, all relaxed shoulders and bored expression. God if this man was not perfect in his skin.

After a few moments the sound of a chain being pulled back and a lock being turned, the door opened slowly, a portly man appeared in a dark blue bathrobe. He had to be over sixty Dylan decided, his eyes bloodshot and crows feet deeply visible. The gray hair combed over his shining head was almost transparent and overall he looked like he wouldn't be living another ten years.

The Italian stepped forward with a deadly inviting expression, a small wolfish smile appearing. "Hello Mr. Halloway. Heard about your stocks. Right depressing."

The man's watery blue eyes widened and he took an unconscious step back. Marco only took the gun out of his blazer with cool boredom. "Thing is…you owe me two k. Now, I'm prepared to do this quietly and leave you alone so let's pretend I like you. I'm going to stand here and you are going to go to your wife's room and get her jewelry box because I know you have nothing else. Clear?"

Dylan pitied the man in front of him suddenly. He looked just short of falling over in fear. His hands shook at his sides and his beady little eyes looked out from his pallid face with nothing short of terror written in them. Marco was rather frightening with a gun in his hand.

When the man didn't move Dylan watched the short man slowly aim the gun at Halloway's head. "Do hurry," he whispered darkly. "I'm too busy a man for the likes of you."

And with that the old man jumped into action, shuffling away down a dark hallway, slippers whispering on the carpet and absolutely shaking like a leaf. In the moment of silence Dylan looked around at the others wondering if he was the only one feeling a bit winded at the display.

The man who had talked to them earlier that evening with the spastic voice stared straight ahead at the doorway looking calm for the first time since Dylan had come in contact with him. His eyes were narrowed and intense but certainly not surprised in any way. The woman accompanying them looked very much the same, focused and intent as if completely used to Marco's actions.

Eric and the dopey faced Italian man however…looked almost exactly like Halloway, absolutely terrified of Marco. Dylan felt a small bit of his confidence rise ever higher at that. Pushovers.

However at that moment Halloway could be heard returning and Dylan jumped back to attention. Though the bald man was in the dark hallway, it was beyond obvious that a box of any kind was not in hand and Dylan could see Marco's eyes widen a small fraction until he suddenly straightened up, pointing the gun with more sureness and narrowed eyes. "Drop it Halloway," he called out, words positively deadly.

In the gloom Dylan could see the man hesitate and he felt his insides seize up. With half a mind Dylan grabbed onto the back of the two newbie's shirts and began walking back slowly. He had not counted on the idiots to not take notice to what was going on. Eric gave a very girly squeak and fought against him and Dylan cursed everything to hell.

A shot rang out and all chaos broke out. Two, three more shots rang out and suddenly the group was running down the stairs at breakneck speed. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Schermo grabbing Marco's arm and pulling him bodily down the stairs behind him. Melissa was all but kicking the idiotic Italian man in front of her who was running at a much slower pace, apparently having not worked out in years. Eric ran in front of him as if the dogs of hell themselves were at his heels. Screams could be heard upstairs, now two stories up and sirens were steadily filling the quiet.

Behind him he could hear Marco barking out breathless orders, Italian words leaking in occasionally as they all stumbled out into the lobby. The owner of the apartment appeared out of a doorway carrying a shotgun just as they scrabbled out the door, another shot shattering the glass, the shards narrowly missing Melissa as she screamed and ran on, pushing at the people in front of her.

The cars were finally in view and Marco was already roaring at the drivers. People jumped into cars without a thought and in a squeal of tires they were hurtling down a completely different street, the sirens fading away.

Feeling as if his heart was about to fly free of his chest Dylan fell back against the leather seat, a hand resting on his stomach as if to calm himself down.

It wasn't until he heard a sharp breath next to him that he opened his eyes. Marco sat beside him with grit teeth and his eyes squeezed shut. Schermo seemed to notice the other man at the same moment Dylan did and moved around until he was on his knees in front of the Italian, hurriedly unbuttoning his blazer with shaking fingers.

Dylan jumped forward as well; helping pull his right arm out of the sleeve as the other man eased the other off with extreme gentleness. A crisp white shirt came into view and Dylan felt himself gasp as Marco's left shoulder came into view, vivid, bright red staining the fabric.

Marco forced his eyes open and glanced down at himself, clenching his fists in an effort to stop the pain, before speaking to Schermo with a strained voice. "He grazed me. I'll be fine. Just stop the blood flow until we get to the building. Hurry."

Dylan could only watch on helplessly as the man hurriedly slipped the scarf from around his neck off and began tying it tightly around his arm before grabbing his hand and squeezing what looked like a painful amount. It was apparent there was a great amount of trust between the two.

But he soon forgot about the Schermo man as his eyes raced back up to Marco's face again. He was apparently fighting with all he had to keep his eyes open, staring up at the ceiling of the car as he breathed in and out raggedly. Dylan wanted to help…fucking do something but as the car hurtled through the streets of Toronto he knew there was nothing. So he only watched.

Finally the car came to screeching halt some twenty blocks away and Dylan jumped forward, putting a hand on the center of Marco's chest to keep him from falling forward into the floor. He almost regretted it at the pained expression and groan that sounded out at the touch. He all but flew out of the car, letting Schermo help the Italian out.

Melissa who had ended up in the other car rushed forward at seeing Marco, her face calm but her eyes wide and frantic. "Oh shit. Hurry Schermo. Take him to the kitchen, I'll call Marie," she breathed before running up into the building, heels not slowing her down up the stairs whatsoever.

Schermo was slowly helping Marco up the stairs with the man's arm slung over his shoulders. But the Italian man was halting him with what little energy he had, calling behind them to Dylan.

"Get those idiots out of my sight. Put them in the lobby and fucking keep them there until someone can deal with them."

And with that the pair disappeared into the building, glass doors swinging closed behind them. Dylan swallowed thickly once the man was out of sight and turned to the two newbies finally climbing out of the car. He felt his anger at having seen his operation hurt. They were screwing with his job.

"You two are fucking unbelievable!" he screamed, throwing his hands up. The two looked up with large eyes and he was happy to have gotten their pathetic attention. "Who in the hell taught you? YOU!" he shouted, pointing a finger into Eric's chest, delighting when the man looked even more scared. "You panicked! At what? A hand on your back? You almost cost your fucking employer his life! BOTH of you! Get into the lobby and don't you dare fucking move if you value ANY part of your body!"

The two men stared up at him in fear, backs up against the black car as if they had tried to back away. Seeing them not move Dylan shouted again. "MOVE!" When they all but fled away up the stone steps Dylan felt himself unwind, breathing heavily as he scrubbed a hand over his face.

Seeing the drivers standing beside their automobiles with passive faces Dylan sighed tiredly and turned, telling them to park the cars before going inside the building as well, taking a seat in the lobby far enough away from the scum to not kill them but close enough to make sure they didn't try to run from their fates either.

* * *

An hour passed in forced and uncomfortable silence before finally the loud ping of an elevator sounded in the lobby. Dylan looked up quickly, watching the shaky man who had helped Marco into the building earlier appear. The two idiots on the opposite couch dropped their eyes upon sighting him, busying themselves with their hands. Dylan however made eye contact, worried about the condition of his assignment. 

The man made a swift gesture with two of his fingers, signaling him over and Dylan did so, giving the two men a glare before walking over where Schermo spoke to him in hushed tones.

"Marco is fine, just some blood loss. Marie said he should stay lying down until at least tomorrow but he insists on leaving," he said with a small almost manic laugh. Dylan felt himself smile in return. Perhaps this man was not so intimidating after all.

"Him, Melissa, and myself are going to go out later for breakfast after he rests a short while. He requests you join us."

Amazing, Dylan thought in his head. Could he truly be getting this close to the target after only one day? Domani would praise him!

Snapping back into reality Dylan nodded in acceptance. The man nodded as well, touching his arm to signal his departure before moving across the room. Seconds later loud yelling could be heard as Schermo lit into the two newbies. Dylan only bowed out quietly, walking the short distance to the apartment building Domani had supplied him with. He leisurely got ready, showering and dressing nicely, tugging on a pair of black slacks and a blood red dress shirt before falling onto the sofa dialing his proprietor.

"Hello, Domani. I have good news…"

* * *

"I promise, no matter how much you stare the stupid cut will not disappear." 

Across from him, sitting primly, Melissa jumped. With a small sheepish smile she shrugged, crossing her legs and regarded him. "Sorry for worrying then. It's not everyday your best friend is shot."

Marco rolled his eyes, sitting up a bit too quickly with a wince. "I wasn't shot so please do cease and desist with the cow eyes."

The woman's grin grew a bit before she stood, moving to gently shove him back down into a lying position. Marie, the family's nurse of sorts had finally left some ten minutes before and Marco was already itching to leave the confines of this dreary room. Schermo had left him as well but his absence was for a good cause. He would have a select few words for his father's choice of applicants when he arrived back in Canada. For example, hiring Dylan.

He was not so stupid as to not realize the man had been trying to do the smart thing in the situation on the stairs. He obviously knew what he was doing. It was simply the matter of the attraction that kept him constantly on guard. However, as was seen, the man had great potential and Marco saw this like any person would.

And so the dinner invitation was forwarded. He sorely hoped he did not regret extending it.

Finally some four hours later, after a small catnap by all, Marco deemed his waiting over. With the help of Melissa, he dressed and waited for Schermo and Melissa to as well before slipping out of the large apartment building to pick up the last of their party.

At the first buzz from the intercom Dylan jerked awake. It took a second for him to realize his shirt was covered in wrinkles and he was frightened of the state of his hair. Rushing up as quickly as possible, he bounded to the nearest mirror, attempting to salvage his appearance as another buzz sounded.

Cursing a million and one gods under his breath and still looking as if he'd just woken up he gave a loud sigh, running down the stairs to the lobby of his apartment building and opening the door with trepidation. The driver, a different one from earlier, stood on the steps waiting. Dylan gave him a small nod, following him to the car silently.

Inside, the beautifully dressed others sat waiting, and under their stares he felt a small flush of inadequacy rise up his neck and across his cheeks.

"Hello Scruffy, nice nap?" the elegant woman at Marco's side finally said, her laughter tinkling in the still air. Looking up he found her smiling gently and he relaxed a bit at her acceptance.

"Uh…yes."

* * *

The restaurant the four arrived at was quite a bit nicer than Dylan had been expecting. It looked nothing like a diner or a breakfast chain. In all truth it looked more like a five star dinner restaurant than anything else. The walls were all artistically painted in shades of blue, the lighting flashing in abstract angles to create a very modern feel. Knowing his shirt was still slightly wrinkled he was sure he must stick out horribly in this atmosphere. 

They were seated in a room to themselves, the piano from the main room muted here. The table was square so Dylan found himself sitting directly across from Marco, watching as the man took his seat with slow, ginger movements as to not reopen the wound on his shoulder. Melissa, the Italian woman he had met at the party the day before looked on in concern but said nothing, only picking up her menu and disappearing behind it.

Dylan followed, swallowing as he realized the entire thing was written in flourishing French. A quick glance to the others showed they had no qualms with the language, whereas it had been his worst subject in high school. Finally after what felt like ages of frantic searching his eyes caught on to a word he recognized, a croque, and he felt his small fit of panic recede. Crisis averted, he allowed himself to tune into the conversation that had started around him.

"Look, I've got nothing against him, but he's just too slow. He may be my cousin but he's too far into the drug scene and he'd only make the runs more dangerous through both faults. Papa may argue the point but I can't let him stay for safety's sake."

The man at Marco's right nodded, fiddling with the silverware in front of him with trembling fingers. He was quite peculiar, Dylan decided.

Melissa, however, was nodding much more animatedly. "You tell Mr. Del Rossi I'd quit if I did more runs with him. I was stuck behind him on the stairs. Besides," she said, flipping her hair haughtily. "I'm more concerned about the other one. He was a complete imbecile as far as I'm concerned, screaming like that."

Marco sighed tiredly in response and Dylan felt his eyes fall on his injured shoulder. Licking his lips he threw conversation etiquette to the wind. "Does it hurt?" he blurted out.

The Italian man looked up sharply, eyes still as wide and questioning as they had been the other night and Dylan felt the impact of the stare just as strongly.

"It's bearable," he answered shortly, letting his gaze linger longer than necessary on the blue-eyed man before turning back to Melissa, but Dylan caught the quick shuttering of his eyes.

Why did Marco keep hiding from him, he wondered. He needed the man's trust, and every time he cut himself off Dylan felt his stomach drop, What was he going to have to do to get the smaller man's attention and trust long enough to talk to him openly… convince him to meet with Domani.

How did he win Marco over?

Next to him Schermo glanced his way secretly, watching as the blonde's eyes traveled over the Italian and stored the look away for later, taking it for what it was just as the food arrived.

Conversation continued on quietly, but the run as well as the business were dropped in favor of talk about college and recent football matches, though Dylan's mind stayed just as preoccupied, alternating between worry and quickly dawning affection, one thought at the forefront of his mind.

He had to try harder.

* * *

"Papa! Halloway was desperate! We couldn't have foreseen this!" 

"Silenzio!"

Marco immediately snapped his mouth shut, letting his eyes fall to the ground to glare at the plus green carpet of his father's study, inwardly seething. Rows upon rows of books lined the walls around him, their gold leaved spines staring out at him in timeless wisdom. If it weren't for the housekeepers he was sure these shelves would be covered in dust after the years of neglect from his father. Which was good, because Marco hated the loss of knowing his father practiced, and the absence of age old dust filled air allowed him to believe his father cared about the world around, even to a small degree.

But as his father continued to berate him his illusion died. "A failed run is a failed run Marco! If the police catch onto us thanks to that man do you know how much money it would take to silence them!"

"If the newbies hadn't been there-"

"Do not speak!" Mr. Del Rossi roared, slamming meaty fists onto the glossy surface of the writing desk in front of him. Marco stood, taller than the seated man but still reminded of his inferiority by the pain that sparked as he bit into his tongue angrily.

"Marco, Marco, Marco," the man continued in a now softer voice. "You are the future of this empire. You understand this as well as I. I do not say these things for any reason but to make you stronger. A leader cannot be weak. You, Marco, cannot be weak. And I continue with you because I have faith in you."

The larger man reclined slowly in his seat, the soft groan of leather sounding in the quiet as he crossed his hands over his stomach to stare over at him pensively.

"Now tell me…why did the run fail?"

Marco felt his jaw tighten as he finally looked up and made eye contact with his father. "Because of me," he answered apathetically.

"Very good. Be sure it doesn't happen again. You are dismissed."

Shuddering a small curt nod Marco turned on his heel and sped out of the room, stomping off towards the floor his rooms were situated on with a tight knot forming in his throat threatening to bring tears choking forth with every footfall.

As he finally reached the elevator he slammed his thumb against the button, crossing his arms across his chest and staring at his reflection in the silver doors, attempting to flatten his features, keep the emotions welling up down and out of site. Strength.

With a hushed and familiar ping his reflection slid away from before him and suddenly in the place of his blurred and slightly distorted brown eyes a pair of crystal clear blue stared back at him, causing the knot in his throat to remind him of its presence yet again.

Dylan again.

Swallowing away his emotions he stepped inside beside the blonde, hitting the floor buttonand staring at the floor instead of at the man next to him.

"You look terrible…"

* * *

Please review! I'm hoping soon my urge to write will return! And we shall see how many things I can update! 


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